“On the website, it shows a super-king bed,” Ben takes over. “I saw a picture of it. Where’s that gone?”
Nico looks baffled at the question. “We offer many different sleeping options for the suite. The previous occupants of the suite must have ordered two beds, such as you see. They are two very fine beds.” He slaps one. “Finest quality. Is this not satisfactory?”
“No, it’s not bloody satisfactory!” snaps Ben. “We need a double bed. One bed. Super-king. Best you’ve got.”
“Ah.” Nico pulls a regretful face. “A thousand apologies, sir. I am desolated. Since this was not ordered in advance—”
“We shouldn’t have to order it in advance! It’s our honeymoon! This is the honeymoon suite!” Ben’s breathing hard. “What kind of honeymoon suite has two single beds in it?”
“Please, sir. Do not alarm yourself,” says Nico soothingly. “I understand. I will order a double bed immediately.” He takes out his phone and launches into a stream of Greek. At last he switches off and beams again. “The matter is in hand. Again, my apologies. While we are sorting out this problem, may I offer you a complimentary cocktail downstairs at the bar?”
I quell a snappy reply. I don’t want a cocktail at the bar. I want my wedding night. Now.
“Well, how long is it going to take?” Ben scowls. “This is ridiculous.”
“Sir, we will complete the substitution as quickly as possible. The removers will be with us as soon as— Ah!” There’s a knocking sound at the door, and Nico brightens. “Here we are!”
Six guys in white overalls troop into the room, and Nico addresses them in Greek. One guy lifts up the end of a bed and looks at it doubtfully. He says something in Greek to another guy, who shrugs and shakes his head.
“What?” says Ben in agitated tones, looking from one to the other. “What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” says Nico reassuringly. “Perhaps I could recommend that you take a seat in your sitting room while we address this small matter?”
He ushers us out and we find ourselves in the sitting room. The TV is still playing Teletubbies at full volume. I jab at it with the remote, but it doesn’t switch off. Nor does the volume control work. Is the remote out of juice?
“Please,” I say shortly. “I can’t stand this. Could you turn it off?”
“And it’s cold in here,” adds Ben. “How do we adjust the air-conditioning?”
It is pretty freezing in here. I’d already noticed.
“I will summon your butler,” says Nico with a beam. “He will attend to you.”
He disappears out the door and I look at Ben in disbelief. We should have been having sex by now. We should have been having the hottest time of our life. Not sitting on a sofa with “Time for Tubby Bye-Bye” blaring at us, in a subzero room with six workmen next door.
“Come on,” says Ben suddenly. “The library. That’s got a sofa.”
He hustles me in there and shuts the door. There are shelves of fake-looking books and a desk with hotel writing paper and a chaise longue upholstered in heavy brown linen. Ben shuts the door and faces me.
“Oh my God,” he exhales incredulously.
“Oh my God.” I echo. “Insane.” We both draw breath. And then it’s as if the starting pistol has been fired for the Most Erogenous Zones in a Minute contest. He’s all over me. I’m all over him. His hands are everywhere. My bra is unhooked, my top is ripped off, and I’m unbuttoning his shirt.… His skin is so warm, so delicious, I want to savor him for a bit, but Ben’s already looking purposefully around the room.
“Sofa?” he pants. “Or desk?”
“Don’t care,” I manage.
“I can’t wait any longer.”
“What if they hear?”
“They won’t hear.” He’s unhooking my skirt. I’m almost popping. At last, at last, at last … yes … yes …
“Sir? Madame?” There’s a rapping at the door. “Sir, madame? Mr. Parr?”
What?
“Noooo,” I whimper. “Noooooo …”
“What the fuck—” Ben looks livid. “Hello?” he raises his voice. “We’re busy. Come back in ten.”
“I have a gift from the management,” comes a voice through the door. “Fresh cookies. Where would you like me to put it?”
“Anywhere,” Ben calls back impatiently. “Don’t care.”
“Please, sir, could you kindly sign for the gift?”